Page 102 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

He did not release her. Instead, Sebastian lifted her cleanly from the dais and tossed her over his shoulder.

Several startled gasps sounded around them. The effect upon the room was immediate. Hands stilled. Kisses broke apart. Bodies already entwined paused as heads turned in their direction. The charged atmosphere fractured beneath a sudden wave of curiosity as Aphrodite’s patrons abandoned their own diversions to stare at the astonishing spectacle of the Earl of Raine carrying a furious woman across the room.

“Put me down,” Darcy demanded, breathless with outrage. “You are outrageous!”

Rebecca hurried forward, anger flashing across her face. “Sebastian, you will set her down this instant⁠—”

He ignored her. Without so much as a glance behind him, he strode from the dais with Darcy slung over his shoulder, her furious protests following him through the chamber and into the corridor beyond.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” she said, twisting in his hold, her body writhing as she fought to free herself.

Sebastian said nothing. A sharp sting suddenly bit into his arm. Darcy had twisted far enough to sink her teeth into his bicep, biting him with unmistakable intent.

“You do enjoy biting,” he said on a low grunt, something dangerously close to satisfaction threading through the words.

She did not immediately release him. When her teeth finally unclamped, it seemed almost reluctant. Sebastian continued down the corridor and up the winding staircase without breaking stride. Moments later, he pushed open the door to his private chamber and carried her inside. Only then did he lower her carefully to her feet.

Darcy staggered a little as she regained her balance. She whirled upon him, breath uneven, eyes blazing. “How dare⁠—”

“I love you, Miss Darcy Whitley.”

The words fell between them with quiet, unshakable certainty.

Darcy went utterly still. Her eyes widened with stunned disbelief, all the fury in them arrested in an instant. Her lips parted, then softened, and tears gathered with such suddenness that her brown eyes turned luminous. For one suspended moment, she simply stared at him, as if she could not reconcile the man who had cast her aside with the man now standing before her declaring his love.

She looked indomitable still, furious and proud and wounded.

And heartbreakingly vulnerable.

“I have never loved a woman before,” he continued softly. “I did not understand what was happening to me until I had wounded you and condemned myself to living without you. But I love you with every part of my soul, with every thought I cannot silence and every breath that has felt empty in your absence.”

He moved closer with deliberate care, watching for the slightest sign that she wished him to stop, as though approaching something both fragile and immeasurably precious. When she did not retreat, he raised his hand and touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. The gesture was reverent, almost worshipful. Her skin was warm beneath his knuckles, and the pulse at her throat fluttered wildly.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “For the letter. For making you believe that what passed between us meant less to me than it did.” His thumb brushed beneath one shimmering eye. “Nothing has ever meant more.”

He reached for the ribbons of her mask and loosened them slowly. When the mask fell away, he could only stare. Her face was flushed with anger and hope, her lashes damp, her mouth soft and slightly parted. She was not merely beautiful. She was beloved, and the knowledge altered every feature he had once thought he understood.

“Will you do me the honor of allowing me to court you?”

“Court me?” she repeated, almost breathless.

“Yes. Properly. Publicly. With marriage as my intention, if I can persuade you to trust me again.”

Her expression wavered. “You cannot say this merely because another man wished to touch me.”

“I say it because the thought of a life without you has become unbearable. Beaumont merely forced me to stop deceiving myself about it.”

She searched his gaze for a long moment. Then her hand rose and settled against his chest, directly over his heart. He felt the delicacy of her palm and beneath it the faint tremor she tried to hide.

“Your heart is racing,” she whispered.

“It has not behaved sensibly since I met you.”

A broken laugh escaped her, half sob and half wonder. In her gaze he saw fear, longing, and a love so naked that it brought him close to his knees.

“Darcy,” he murmured. “I love you.”

Her fingers curled into his shirt, not to push him away but to hold him there. He was quite aware that Darcy had not agreed to his courtship, and Sebastian knew he had much to do before he regained her trust. He lowered his head and touched his mouth to hers with exquisite care. There was no conquest in the kiss, no demand. He kissed her as though asking forgiveness with every slow press of his lips, as though her mouth were something sacred entrusted to him. Darcy trembled and then leaned into him, one hand sliding to his nape while the other remained over his heart. The answering tenderness in her undid him.